


Drive Like I Do

by whirlpool



Category: The 1975 (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Public Sex, Road Head, drug/alcohol abuse, matty is 17 and george is 16, the whole thing kinda has a sad undertone tbh, which makes hann 18 and ross 17 if you are so inclined to know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 21:11:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2040330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whirlpool/pseuds/whirlpool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matty bets that George isn't as good a driver as he claims to be. George never turns down a challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drive Like I Do

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by The 1975 (the song), Head.Cars.Bending., and the music video for Chocolate.
> 
> Dedicated to tumblr user 2009dansmith because #nastille gives me life. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

“Hey, George?” Matty held his cigarette over the edge of the open car window and flicked it once, twice, watching the ashes pull away from the red glowing fag end and fall into the street. “Can I ask you a question?”

 

It was the middle of summer, and the heat of the day had faded into a silent, silky, blue dark, and it was just the four of them piled into Hann's old 1975 Ford Consul, driving around town past midnight with absolutely no destination in mind. Matty liked staying out late, mostly because it meant that he didn't have to be home, hearing his parents scream threats at each other until the neighbors call the police, and the red and blue flashing lights appear in front of their house.

 

He would probably crash at Hann's tonight, anyway.

 

“Yeah, sure.” George was driving, as usual, which always amused Matty, because George was the only one in the car who _didn't_ have a driver's license - he was still sixteen. If they ever got pulled over, they'd be screwed: a car that smelled like weed, full of plastered teenage boys without seatbelts, being driven by an unlicensed sixteen-year-old. Of course, the trick was to _not_ get pulled over, which was why George was driving. Which brought Matty to his question.

 

"Why are you always the designated driver?"

 

It was obvious why. The three of them were drunk off their asses. Hann was a bad driver to begin with, Matty was a fucking lightweight, and Ross...Ross just liked to get really, really drunk.

 

George held his liquor the best, probably because he was so fucking huge, but he always refused to drink if a car was involved. Matty said he had the self-control of a saint. George said he was just being a half-decent friend.

 

"Because you're smashed," said George. "And unlike you, I don't feel like dying tonight."

 

Matty scowled, but couldn't exactly argue the point. They rode in relative silence for a few more blocks, Hann and Ross quietly sharing a joint in the backseats, although when Matty looked back, it was hard to tell where the shotgunning ended and the messy, horny-teenage-boys-making-out began. They would deny everything the next morning, of course; Hann had a girlfriend, Ross had a reputation to uphold. There were things that happened in this car, on these streets, during these hours that stayed there. (Kids had called him and George fags and poofs and cocksuckers when they'd started dating, but Matty tried mostly to not give a fuck. He had George, and he had Hann and Ross, and it didn't matter what anyone beyond that said. That's what he told himself, anyway.)

 

"Hey," said Matty, brightening. "We could rotate. I could be the driver tomorrow."

 

"And trust _you_ to stay sober the entire night?" George asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

 

"I'm not a fucking alcoholic," muttered Matty, but they both knew that was a lie. Matty couldn't remember the last time he'd gone a night without being under the influence of _something_. He put out his cigarette and tossed it out the window, as if to make a point.

 

George knew that his words had stung, and quickly backpedaled. "Besides, I've got the seat all set up. If you start messing with it, the rear view mirror will be all out of line, the seat too close to the pedals, and the fucking steering wheel in my crotch."

 

"Just one night," Matty promised. He felt bad, he really did, that George always had to do all the driving. He wanted George to enjoy himself properly. He also liked that George got very handsy when he was drunk.

 

But George wasn't having any of it. "I'm the best fuckin' driver out of you lot anyway."

 

"Very boastful," Matty observed.

 

George gave a small shrug. "'S true," he said, smiling. When George smiled, his eyes went all soft around the edges and his nose crinkled. Matty was a big fan of the nose crinkle. But then again, Matty was a big fan of most things that George did.

 

George was fucking weird, and Matty loved it. George was one of those kids who threw spaghetti at the ceiling to see if it would stick (the now dried-up noodle was still in Ross's kitchen) . Once, in maths class, he fit an entire calculator into his mouth, just to prove that he could. (Matty had jerked off that night to the memory of George's stretched lips and full cheeks.)

 

"Even if I do... _this_?" Matty stuck his hand out in front of George's eyes.

 

George quickly batted it away, jerking the wheel. "Fuck off," he grumbled, but Matty knew he wasn't seriously angry.

 

Matty giggled, sticking his hand out the window and playing with the warm breeze filtering through his fingers. The car had veered out of the lane -- almost imperceptively, and George had brought it back under control immediately -- but Matty had gotten a thrill out of it. It was the same sick thrill he got when a new drug made his head swim faster and his throat burn stronger than anything he had ever taken before. It was a thrill that said, next time you might die.

 

A half-baked plan formed in his mind.

 

"Bet you 20 quid you're not as good a driver as you reckon you are," Matty drawled.

 

"Oh?" George raised an eyebrow. He never turned down a challenge. He was so goddamn predictable, it almost made Matty's heart ache.

 

"Yeah. Bet I could distract you, easily." Laying down the bait. Getting exactly what he wanted. Matty was good at that.

 

"It's not fair if you just grab my face like that," George objected.

 

"I can't touch your face, hands, or feet," Matty promised.

 

George rolled his lips in, chewed on them. Considered the bet. Matty watched him carefully.

 

"Deal," he finally said. "20 quid."

 

"It's on," agreed Matty, and then turned around to face forward again. He lit a cigarette. Took a few good, long drags. Blew out smoke and watched the wind pull it out the window.

 

George kept glancing over every few seconds. Every time Matty lifted a hand, or turned his head, George would tense up, as if Matty was going to suddenly jump him. His paranoia was adorable and empowering all at once. It was making Matty downright horny, making his head spin but in a good way, not in the cruel, impersonal way that pills did, but making him feel warm and easy and _happy_.

 

God he was so in love with this kid.

 

Matty reckoned that the anticipation might cause George to crash before he'd even started, so he reached out a hand and palmed him over a bit, testing the waters.

 

"Jesus, Matty, not fair," George gasped, hands tightening on the steering wheel.

 

"Totally fair," Matty countered. And then he leaned his upper body over and undid George's jeans, tugging them open and pushing them down.

 

"There are _other people_ in the back," George hissed, no doubt beginning to think of all the things that could go wrong. And yet he still lifted his hips so that Matty could slide his jeans and boxers down to his thighs.

 

Matty glanced back. The two passengers in question were dead to the world, Hann safely nestled in Ross's arms, a bit of drool trailing down his cheek.

 

"They're out cold," Matty assured him, lips brushing the shell of George's ear. He held on to the back of George's seat with one hand and used the other to jerk him off to a sufficient hardness.

 

" _Jesus_ ," breathed George. The car swerved to the left, nearly clipping a parked sedan.

 

"Eyes on the road," Matty reminded him, palm momentarily running over the head of his cock before sliding up and down the length of his shaft. His fingers were loose, his pace slow and easy. This was only the warm-up, after all.

 

George's own hands were gripping the steering wheel tightly, knuckles almost turning white. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he struggled to keep the car on the road, mouth set in a grim line of determination. _Bless him_ , thought Matty, before leaning down and taking him into his mouth.

 

The car accelerated sharply for half a second, and Matty smiled inside, breathing through his nose and enjoying the taste of George on his tongue. The cigs had left his mouth bitter and dry, but George's cock was slick and salty-sweet with precum. Matty swirled his tongue around and heard George's breath hitch in his throat.

 

"Mmph," George gritted out, still trying to be quiet in case he woke up Hann or Ross. "Not -- _ugghn_ \-- one of your best -- _ahh_ \-- ideas."

 

Matty didn't reply, just began bobbing his head up and down, feeling his throat muscles tighten every time the tip of George's cock reached the back of his mouth. He'd gone down on other guys before; back when he'd first realised he was bi and discovered a whole other world of older men who held him around the waist and told him he was gorgeous, or when he was lonely and wasted on a weekday night and willing to please anyone who would pay attention to him, or the classic cases of blowjobs for blow. They would dig their fingers into his scalp and pull at his hair and call him a dirty little slut, and in the morning he'd be left with nothing but a burning throat and a hollow pit in his stomach. But George was different. Matty genuinely enjoyed the musk of his cock and the taste of his skin, and he wanted to make George come because George was beautiful and kind and loved him back.

 

The car rolled to a stop.

 

"Matty," said George, voice tight and urgent and fucking _serious_. This time, Matty did stop, panic rising in his chest, sure that they had been pulled over. How the fuck were they going to explain this one to the cops? He lifted his head.

 

They were only at a red light.

 

He slowly turned back to face George, heart sinking, a million questions forming in his throat and catching on his tongue. Had he done something wrong? Had he gone too far? Then George, eyes wide, tilted his head to the right, and Matty finally noticed the car that had pulled up in the lane next to them. It was full of twenty-somethings, snickering and jeering, and one wolf-whistled when he made eye contact. Matty relaxed, almost laughing with relief, and gave them a cavalier thumbs-up. George looked like he wanted to die right there in his seat.

 

The light turned and the other car pulled away first, the sound of their drunken cheers fading into the night.

 

Without hesitation, Matty returned to George’s cock, this time at a faster pace, making George whine and throw his head back against the seat, hips bucking up, rules of the road forgotten. Matty pressed him back down with a forearm, knew that George was close to finishing, sucked loudly at the head of his cock until George was shuddering all over, ready to come, ready to --

 

And then the car rolled into a ditch.

 

Matty was knocked off balance, the side of his head hitting the dashboard. Disoriented, he clung to George's knees.

 

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ," George sputtered, slamming the emergency brake. The car jolted to a halt, but George wasn't even paying attention to it anymore. "Matty -- you gotta finish, you --"

 

Hann stirred in the backseat.

 

" _Matty_ ," George begged.

 

Matty gathered his senses and scrambled to prop himself up again. He wrapped his lips around George and made him come, hot semen spilling straight into Matty's open mouth until he couldn't breathe.

 

He swallowed, and then kissed George firmly on the lips to show him how good he tasted.

 

George was one of those people who contemplated the meaning of life after an orgasm, so while he sat, dazed, Matty gently cleaned up the area with a tissue and then tugged George's jeans back up.

 

"What the hell, guys?" Hann had woken up. He rubbed his eyes. "Did we crash?"

 

"Something like that," said Matty, all too aware of the come still on his cheek. He quickly lifted a hand, but Hann noticed it before he could wipe it off.

 

"Jesus Christ, you two," Hann sighed. George flushed red, but Matty merely offered an impish grin. "Listen, I don't want to hear about it. Let's just get back to mine, yeah?" He yawned and flopped back, too tired to give a fuck, and too drunk to resist the warmth between Ross's arms (he was  _such_ a cuddly drunk, god). 

 

Matty smiled and pressed his nose into George's bicep. "When we get there, you can finish me off," he whispered, his own hard-on already tight in his jeans.

  
George sped the whole way.

 


End file.
